White leaf fall
by redcristal
Summary: 1st of Sandcastles and stars series: The life of Drusilla. As a human, then as a vampire and then as creature with a soul and just what is a soul?
1. Chapter 1

**Challenge 4754:** How Drusilla gets her soul and how it changes things - any non BTVS/Angel pairing - male or female

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing. BtVS is owned by Joss. Stargate: SG-1 is own by Brad Wright and Jonathan Glassner.

 **Summary:** The life of Drusilla. As a human, then as a vampire and then as creature with a soul and just what is a soul?

 **AN:** Stargate: SG-1 cross will came in to play later. Now while White leaf fall, is stand alone Drusilla centric fan-fiction, it's placed in the same verse as Buffy the champion of Ankhseram

 **Life at Hornby's**

 _ **1860, East End of London**_

It was a dreary day, misty; that was not unusual for Great Britain's weather in the fall but that was not the reason Doctor Hornby's youngest daughter was apprehensive about going out with her parents and two older sisters. The dreary weather was not the reason for her feeling of foreboding that griped her heart. It was fear, but the reason for that feeling was allusive as a fleeting dream.

"Child, don't dawdle!" came the voice of Mrs. Watson, who was the household cook, but before that she was the nanny of all three Hornby sisters. She was their mother really. The woman, Lady Honoria, whom had given birth to them had married below her station in life. Her family the Flemings were members of peerage, and Lady Honoria had eloped at Gretna Green to wed Doctor Hornby. She regretted it by the time Hornby's youngest was born.

The youngest daughter was named Drusilla, and she was a strange child from the moment of her birth. Unlike her older sisters she didn't cry much, only when she needed a linen change.

Otherwise she was just looking and reaching for things that were not there. But despite her oddness, Mrs. Watson loved the little poppet the moment she looked into the infant's dark eyes. Drusilla was her favourite charge, but that didn't mean that she would go easy on her; oh no, even special children needed structure, discipline, and love.

"Yes, Mrs. Watson. I only need to put my bonnet on. Are Danielle and Doreen already with our patents?"

"Yes, and they're all waiting for you." Then the round woman stepped closer observing the raven haired, pale fifteen year old standing in front of the mirror, watching her reflection with the most peculiar expression.

"What is the matter child?" she asked; the young girl was always dreaming of something and Mr. Hornby, the good doctor, disregarded it as nonsense of flights of fancies at best; his lady wife however, took a more judgemental note and commanded her daughter to pay it no mind if she felt charitable. But in the moments of pique or when she felt malcontent, Lady Honoria called Drusilla cursed and her knowing things a affront to God.

"Nothing, Mrs. Watson, I was just having a dream." She frowned at her reflection, and reaching for the pale yellow and black striped ribbons and tying them together, securing her yellow bonnet. "No it was a night terror. I was dancing among mirrors, and there were many voices that were screaming, but worst of all there was no reflection of me anywhere."

"That's' terrible, but its no sense to dwell on it," she soothed Dr. Hornby's youngest. "Now pinch those white cheeks to get more colour in them; you are white as snow."

Obeying her former nanny, she did just that and with a swish of the yellow Taft dress, she left her room and went down the flight of stairs that connected the sleeping rooms of her, her two sisters, and their parents bedroom. She meet with her family, while Mrs. Watson returned to the kitchen where the scullery maid Mary was already waiting so that they had a meal ready when the family returned from their outing. Miss Delenway, the governess, had a day off.

Her father, Dr. Samuel Hornby, was a highly respected middle aged man valued by his patients and loved by his lady wife and three daughters. He was a bit on the short side, but he was a lean man with dark hair that was already turning silver at the temples. The family butler, Mr. Watson, was holding his hat, gloves, and walking stick. Besides him stood his wife, who was dressed in her finest dark red dress with black lace and a red and black bonnet on her curly blonde hair. She was looking as the chambermaid was readjusting her two oldest daughters' bonnets and their dresses.

Twenty one year old Danielle Hornby was dressed in her steel grey gown with pink and yellow trim on her sleeves and a pink bonnet resting on her black hair. She was courted by the merchant's son, Mr. Charles Brown, who was also a nephew of Father Brown, the priest whose mass her whole family attended regularly.

Doreen shared her two years older sister's hair colouring, but unlike her younger and older sister, she inherited their father's green eye colour and was wearing her blue gown with white trim and plum coloured bonnet. She hasn't found her beau yet.

And then there was Drusilla, an awkward pale, petite fifteen year old girl with curly black hair, big blue grey eyes, and night terrors that woke her screaming at night.

And so they walked the streets of London, greeting acquaintances, when …

Drusilla Hornby, walking behind her older sisters, slowly turned as she felt another wave of dread creeping up on her. She turned around when her father was talking to one of his patients, while her mother stayed at his side demurely.

Watching the passing carriage and pedestrians, her dark blue eyes rested on a well dressed couple leaning on the corner. For a fleeting moment she caught their gazes and her fear turned into the determination to move. Whirling around, she pushed at her older sisters' waists steering them away. And for a moment her fear lessened, but it never went away.

 *****Angel &Darla – at the same time*****

A tall dark haired man was casually leaning on the corner of the ally overlooking the busy street of East End London. People nodded at him respectfully for he was decked out in a well tailored suit, which proclaimed him to be a man of means.

Suddenly he was joined by the beautiful fair haired lady, that for many she appeared as a member of peerage. Flashing a white toothed smile at the woman, the man tilted his head in her direction.

"I thought we were meeting in the Square," he asked, smirking down at her.

"I ran into Lord Nichols," said the blonde lady in a frilly pink dress and in a breathy voice, that promised everything and nothing. "Horrid little man, he was propositioning a streetwalker and dickering over the price," her voice hardened, becoming coloured in anger at the man who wanted to hustle the poor streetwalker. "Can you imagine? I told him I'd do him for nothing," she finished, her painted lips pulling into a cruel smile, while her blue eyes were cold as ice.

The man's smile widened, "You're very charitable."

"I so loathe cheap royalty," she groused, and ran her hand over her dress, smoothing the wrinkles on the silky fabric.

The man meanwhile snuck an arm around the woman's waist, pulling her close. And smirking at the sight of the two dead bodies in the back ally, those sure won't be discovered for a while.

"They all taste the same to me," he mummers into her ear.

She hums in pleasure, "My dear boy does have the touch." She smiles up at him, mischievously.

He frowns, what does his sire …

"Darla?"

"Yes?"

His crafty sire is definitely planning something, knowing that she won't be imminently upfront, but then again Angelus relishes the challenge.

"Why'd you kill the streetwalker?" he asks inviting Darla to say more, to give him a hint of the fun to come.

"Oh," she drawls running her hand up and down her companion's front, "I just liked _her_. Guess what's next?"

"What is it?"

"Surprise. You have to guess."

Angelus looks up and down the street, spotting something interesting, inhaling deeply, and testing the blood of the family of five. He smirks; his Darla found a bounty indeed.

"The three daughters, all virgins."

"Close." She takes a step forward to have a better view at her gift to her sweet dear boy. Her Angelus, he was already building a reputation in the Order of Aurelius circle.

"The one in the middle has something delicate and unique." He frowned concentrating, still in the process of honing his senses. "Did you find me a Saint?"

Darla smiles, her child is improving, he is still young though and still vulnerable to hunters. This is why she decided to accompany him after they had met with Master Nest. Never had she seen a demon with such potential for greatness as Angelus.

"Better than that. She has the sight."

Angelus steps forward observing the girl that just turned and watched the crowd; for a moment her gaze meet his and held as he stalked toward her. "Visions. She sees the future. She is pure innocence, yet she sees what's comin'; she knows what I'm gonna do to her. I'll really have to come up to snuff for this one."

He is stopped by a white hand on his forearm. "Down boy, let the plum ripen."

Angelus wrapped an arm around Darla's waist holding her close. "You always come up with something new."

"Keeps me young," she answered with a smile.

"Well Darla, I'm feeling a bit famished …."

 *******

 _ **1861, London Hornby's residence**_

She can not un-see the golden-blond lady and that tall man either, in fine clothing too, the likes she saw only nobles wear. He had a face of an angel, but she could only see a black sky and worms reflected at her. And it terrified her, the scenes she saw at night that she woke up screaming to, her throat raw and drenched in sweat and breathing hard.

She didn't like the implication of such dreams. What was worst however was after her fifteenth birthday in February, the dreams were no longer vague and at night, they came to her by day and at the most inconvenient times. She dreaded receiving them when in company of her mother and with her sister Doreen's engagement and pending weeding; she spent a lot of time with her mother and sisters.

As of right now, they are sitting in her uncle's, her mother's brother who is a baronet, carriage that they had borrowed. Her mummy is quietly murmuring a song; she is fond of 'The lamb caught in the blackberry patch.' Drusilla and her two sisters sit quietly in the driving carriage.  
Arriving at her uncle's town-house in Mayfair, they exited, helped by a butler, who came out of the lovely Victorian house.

"Lady Honoria," the butler bowed, over her mother's hand. Then he turned to the now lined up three Hornby sisters. "Miss Hornby," he bowed over Drusilla's eldest sister's hand. Then repeated the procedure over Doreen's and Drusilla's hands.

"You are expected."

"Very well, thank you, Bowstrings," her mother said to the butler then breezed past him to the dawning room, where her elder brother's wife, the baroness, and her daughter Anne waited.

"Hello, Honoria," The baroness greeted her sister in law, when she sailed into the room, while she was reading a book of poetry. Anne, the nine year old daughter of the house, looked up from her dollhouse, where she played tea party with her porcelain dolls.

"Aunt Honoria, did you bring me pomegranates, did you? Oh please I love them so much!"

"Anne, don't be rude, dear," her mother admonished her. At the time the three sisters entered the room and again lined up, as instructed beforehand by their mother, from the eldest to the youngest.

"Go say hello, to your cousins, dear Anne," Honoria said, and lightly steered the little girl toward her three daughters. "And I'm sure you'll have your pomegranates by dinner time, for dessert."

When Anne ran to her cousins, the baroness smiled mischievously to her sister-in-law. "It appears that my daughter inherited your side of the family trait."

Honoria smiled, "Yes, she is truly endowed with a lively character."

"That's not what I had in mind Honoria; Anne, like you, has a taste for eating her kind of exotic fruit raw. For you, it is lemons." She ignored Honoria's sigh that 'she likes how lemons make her mouth tingle.' "For my daughter, it's pomegranates."

 *****Time skip*****

Life goes on and so months pass, it is the next year, and Hornby's family was preparing for a wedding that will take place in late January between Danielle Hornby and Mr. Charles Brown Jr.  
Danielle was standing on the pedestal in front of the seamstress who was holding a bunch of pins and thread. "So Dru, you still don't have a suitor?"

"Don't think I'll ever have one." Danielle didn't miss her little sister's statement for what it was.

"Are you certain that is what you want?" The question really, 'is that what you saw in your vision?'

"I'm afraid that it is so," came Drusilla's certain replay. "But enough about me, Danny, you are trying on your wedding dress. This was supposed to be your day. And as your maid of honor and your little sister, I must ensure it is so."

"Oh, but Dora should be here as well?" Then Danielle frowned, "Where is she?"

"Ah, just meeting for the first time with the love of her life."

"What?!" Danielle screamed "Oh my God? Do mother and father know?"

"Calm down, you'll mess with the dress."

"Oh, I apologize for the interruption of your work, Madame ," Danielle apologized to the seamstress, who skilfully pinned the shiny ribbon of ivory silk and Venetian lace to the bodice of her wedding dress.

"No need to, Mademoiselle Hornby. I have your dress well in hand."

 **To be continued.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: **Sisters and confessions**

 *****6 months later*****

There was a big wedding to be had, also a celebration for the engagement of Hornby's middle daughter Doreen to Roland Warren. Drusilla however voiced her wish to join the Church religious order of Saint Catherine of the Wheel. Drusilla was enchanted and drawn to that saint patron of unmarried girls, apologists, potters and spinners, dying people, libraries, merchants, and spinsters.

Her parents agreed to their youngest wish to take the religious vocation and so Drusilla Hornby entered her trial period of six months. And when abbess deems her ready, she'll join the Sisters of Mercy for good.

But before that there was a wedding to be had and an engagement party that she'll attend.

"Drusilla!" Doreen called to her younger sister "Can you come up to help me?"

"Doreen, a lady doesn't shout," Honoria chided her child. "And do be ready; Mr. Langford will be here any moment."

"We'll be done soon mother," called Doreen then she turned to her sister, who just entered, carrying a neatly embroidered silk shawl. "Isn't this exciting? Mr. Langford is one of the leading minds in the Archaeology department and is being sent to America to conduct an archaeological excavation there."

"Yes, yes." Drusilla nodded at her enthusiastic older sister. "As you said many times and it appears that Mr. Warren's enthusiasm for archaeology extended to you as well."

"Why yes, I find the cultures of long past so very romantic," breathed Doreen, her eyes unfocused and her mind in a dream world, imagining castles, ghosts, and brave heroes rescuing princesses that were kidnapped by evil dragons. And sure enough, Drusilla mused, Doreen managed to dig up some romance novels from somewhere, novels that if their mother knew she'd had, would forbid her daughters to read them.

Mommy was already angry at her, because she had a terrible fright in the middle of the street early this morning. But Drusilla could not help what she saw; she saw two lives end in the mine today and many more were injured. And she was dreading it … she didn't know when it would happen exactly, but…

"Welcome to our home, Mr. Langford."

The next day Drusilla was sitting in Church on a bench waiting for her turn in the confessional and praying to God and the Holy Mother of Jesus. What she saw yesterday became truth today. A man came to her father, requesting for medical aid for there was an explosion and cave in at the mine.

Drusilla, distraught, sought consonance in the church. Standing up from her bench she stepped up to the cross where the Holy Son was suspended and prayed for guidance. Noticing that the dark red curtain of the confessional was pushed aside and the confessional itself empty, she stepped in and drew the curtain over the entrance, kneeling, she made the sign of the cross and…

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been two days since my last confession," she said; there was silence and some sort of movement and a muffled thud.

"Father?" she asked, fearing for the man, that and an uneasy feeling sprang to her mind. She was not in danger was she? What danger could a man of cloth pose to her in this Holy place?

"That's not very long," comes a male voice from the priest. He must be new, Drusilla decided; Father Brown didn't have an Irish accent.

"Oh, Father, I'm so very afraid," she said, faintly trembling, the fear overshadowing any feeling she currently had about this bodiless voice in the dark part of the conversionary.

"The Lord is very forgiving. Tell me your sins."

"I had," here she hesitated. Fear of her seeing death. Fearing that it is herself that causes the deaths she sees, at conflict with a feeling of unease and danger, she feels coming from the priest she is confessing too, the sudden urge to be as far away from him as it is possible.

"I've been seeing again, Father. Yesterday, the men were going to work in the mine," she started haltingly, omitting for some reason the other details about her whereabouts, something she didn't do when confessing to Father Brown.

"I had a terrible fright. My stomach was all tied up, and I saw this horrible crash. My mummy said to keep my peace that it didn't mean anything. But this morning, they had a cave-in, two men died and many more were wounded." She didn't tell him that her father was called on for his medical aid.

"Go on," the priest's voice came at her, making her start anew; why was she feeling so frightful?

"My mommy says," she halted for a bit. Drusilla knew that her mother was not very understanding of her seeing, but Mrs. Watson was her staunch supporter and always had a hot chocolate ready for her after she had one of her night terrors, and Mrs. Watson was always ready to go through them with her.

"I'm cursed, that my seeing things is an affront to the Lord, because only He's supposed to see things before they happen and be everywhere at once."

Her mother told her this once and only once. And besides she had a terrible head pain, and Drusilla thought abashed, she probably didn't help with her screaming and crying at the aftermath of her seeing() a giant metal ring and dog faced people spilling out of the water's surface of the ring.

"But I do not mean to Father." She sobbed her mind in turmoil at the stay to confess the truth, all truth and nothing else, but a part of her that whispered of stars and wanted to devote her spirit and body to the holy carouse was urging her to stand up and escape to the sunshine outside the church.

She did not understand the contradiction of her thoughts.

"I try to be pure in his sight," she sobs out with increasing distress. "I don't want to be an evil thing." As she sometimes sees the evil thing, a soulless thing, dancing and laughing, her hair and dress whipping about among the mirrors without a reflection on their surfaces.

"Oh, hush, child. The Lord has a plan for all creatures. Even a Devil child like you."

What kind of a priest would say that? What kind of man of the cloth would not try to save her soul?

"The Devil?"

The Devil himself in the form of a priest, who was sitting in the dark of the confessor? Was she in danger of losing to Lucifer? Was this why her insights screamed just now to flee, but not obviously, for the predator is fond of chasing. Gathering her courage and grasping the rosary in her palms, she sent a prayer to the Holy Mother for protection. She sent a prayer to Saint Catherine of the Wheel, her patron saint in helping her retreat from this danger in the form of a false priest.

And also a prayer for safety for the soul of Father Brown, since the same seeing was showing her that he was no longer part of the material world.

"Yes!" exclaimed false priest. "You are a spawn of Satan. All the Hail Mary's in the world aren't going to help. The Lord will use you and smite you down. He's like that."

"What can I do?"

What can I do to get away, I must get away. Away. Away, she thought, repeating like a mantra. She must get away from the dark, to the safe heaven of the sun outside.

"Fulfill his plan, child. Be evil. Just give in," he said, and she could hear joy in his words, those words that carried poison and false promise. She knew that she was not evil, and besides Father Brown often said that she was always a pious little girl, that had grown into a beautiful spiritual soul, and he was honored that such a soul chose to serve God.

"No!" Still she was very frightened of this devil in the confessionary. "I want to be good; I want to be pure."

"We all do at first. The world doesn't work that way."

"Father…I beg of you…please … please help me." She prayed to God out loud, but in her mind she added a prayer for God to strike down this evil creature purges the devil and restore the lost soul.

"Aa, very well, child. Ten Our Fathers and an Act of Contrition. Does that sound good?"

Drusilla nearly sagged in relief. "Yes, yes Father. Thank you."

"The pleasure is always mine. And my child …"

"Yes?"

"God is watching you."

"God is always watching," she replied, and started pulling away the curtain to exit the confessional and the building all together.

 _To be continued._


	3. Chapter 3

AN: The Dream sequence that Dru is telling about here is the same as Buffys in chapter 14 of BCoA, second installment of this series.

 **Chapter 3: The one with angelic face and milk/cookies**

Angelus was pacing around the foyer of the house he and Darla commandeered from the previous owners. They were really tasty a married couple. Agitated, after all his prey, the one that will be his masterpiece, escaped his grasp.

"What is it dear boy?" came the voice of his sire, as she stepped into the candlelight. "Did you receive bad news, about Holtz perhaps being on our trail again?"

"No," growled Angelus, vamping out in sheer irritation; the last thing he needed was that infuriating Germanic former general. Though on second thought, he'd be perfect for Angelus to let go his frustration on that pesky fly. "It is not that! She escaped me!"

"Who," Darla inquired, "Ahh the little seer saint." She recalled that Angelus showed interest in the three sisters, the one who had the sight especially.

Angelus resumed his pacing, while Drala reclined on the sofa watching him. "Angelus, dear, do stop this pacing." He shot her a look, and then petulantly flung himself onto the padded chair; he was certain that he had her there in the church, praying for her penance, but apparently the little morsel escaped the moment she stepped out of the confessional.

How utterly vexing.

"Come," said Darla, standing up. "The night is yet young and you are looking a bit pale." Angelus continued to sulk, so Darla went and pulled him to his feet.

"Who knows, perhaps the little lamb's family will be out again." She watched her dear boy's eyes light up. She firmly suppressed a jealous thought, 'Will my boy lose interest in me, or is this pure doxy just a passing fancy?'

 *****Hornby residence – at the same time*****

Drusilla was clutching the windowsill, her knuckles paling in her effort. Her mother was a-bed, again, having a headache; father was out with a patient. And her uncle and aunt-by-marriage were chaperoning Danielle and Doreen.

So it was only Drusilla, her ailing mother and servants and of course Mrs. Watson. And she needed to talk with her old nanny now housekeeper.

There was a knock at her room's door.

"Come in," Drusilla said, and Mrs. Watson stepped in, with a swish of black skirts, carrying a tray with milk and cookies.

"Here you are, dear," Mrs. Watson said, putting the tray down at the small table. "I'm afraid that your mother retired to her room, and she is unlikely to come out for days."

Drusilla blinked, when suddenly a looming dark weight in her heart lifted, and she was able to breathe more easily.

"There is nothing to fear, dear," Mrs. Watson said. Drusilla nodded. "Soon you'll be out of the foul thing's reach."

Drusilla turned to her former nanny; yes she was always supportive of her but this? "You believe me?"

Mrs. Watson nodded, "My father. When I was young, he served in a family that dealt with things like that; I didn't want to have any part in it after …." She trailed off, sighing. "After they took my little sister, she was barely five and ten summers old, she died, next year, those things killed her and they just watched. That is what they do, they watch them die," she finished angrily rubbing her eyes.

"Exactly on the night of my fifteenth birthday, before the night my seeing things came..." Drusilla trailed off.

Mrs. Watson nodded. "At first I thought you were like Edith, but, you are not. No Watchers came for you, and considering that they are based in London, they'd find you if you'd been like her."

"Then what does this all mean?"

"Child, just because you see evil, it doesn't make you the devil child."

Drusilla frowned, then thinking on her recurring dream that she had since before her five and teen birthday, "I had that dream again."

Mrs. Watson frowned and sat down. "The one you usually have?"

"Yes, it was the same."

"I know I said not to tell me then, but can you tell me about it now?"

"Oh," Drusilla softly exhaled; Mrs. Watson always said for her not to talk about it to anyone. But considering what she just found out about Mrs. Watson's sister Edith, her adamant demand for Drusilla not to talk about her dreams was understandable.

Then she blushed; now while she was somewhat used to seeing the scandalous clothing the young women, herself included, in her dream wore, she was embarrassed about voicing that.

"Well, it starts peacefully in the forest clearing with me, an older me, and four other young women; we are looking for someone. I have no knowledge of who we are looking for." She trailed off, and then took a deep breath, deciding not to hold back no matter her embarrassment.

"Their clothing, Mrs. Watson, I am the only one that wears a full dress that covers me from the neck to the ankles, but I … the dress is like those togas that the Romans or Greeks wore and … a-and I'm wearing my hair loose and I'm dancing around and laughing." She gasped in embarrassment, her cheeks flushed. At least she didn't sound evil, manic, and mad in that dream. She was genuinely happy.

"Calm down child, it's all right," Mrs. Watson said, hugging her across the shoulders. "I changed your nappies; strange dresses are no reason to be embarrassed in front of me."

Drusilla's blush intensified. "Mrs. Watson," she squeaked. Then she cleared her throat.

"There are three blondes; one is about my age – now, so thirteen to fifteen. She is wearing … a very short pleated skirt, the like's only 4 year old girls wear …" Drusilla faltered for a moment. "The other women all wear trousers."

"Do they, really? My, that sounds fascinating; I've always wondered what it is like walking around in britches like men do," Mrs. Watson remarked calmly, drawing an astonished look from Drusilla. "So what do they have on top? Waistcoats, shirts, cravats, tail coats?"

"Emm, one is, the one in the short skirt for her age is wearing high black stockings, which come, almost, to her knees; she doesn't wear any boots; she is wearing black and blue, waistcoat and cravat of the same coloring."

"Hmm, that almost sounds like some sort of uniform; continue Miss Drusilla if you please."

"The other blonde, with green or hazel eyes, she has straight sandy colored hair or, or like that brass handle color, or old gold …" she trailed off again, blushing at the memory, in a lot of ways this woman's clothing was made of form fitting black trousers, that looked like men's riding britches, and tight lacy …

"I …she is wearing a dark red shirt made of lace; it is not see through, but, but …"

"I imagine you can see her curves, yes?"

Drusilla nodded. Mrs. Watson thought a moment. "It is more revealing than say the gowns those ladies of the peerage wear?"

"Err, no. no, come to think it her red top could be part of the evening gown, or a gown that an opera singer wears; Adelina Patti."

Mrs. Watson snorted, "So the lass in your dreams could tease lads a bit, but what she wears covers more of her body than the high end ladies' clothing. But please do continue." Heartened and less embarrassed Drusilla did just that.

"None of the women wore bonnets, I included, and I think, I think that the blonde in the red lace shirt has a long knife and some sort of keys on her belt. Gold and silver and keys made of jade."

"What feelings do you have when you are around this woman?"

"Stardust," Drusilla blurted. "Stars," she amended. "I feel connected to her through the stars."

"And that fourteen or so lass?"

"She had straggly, waist-length dishwater blonde hair, wispy thin eyebrows, and protuberant eyes that make her look surprised. I feel an airy dottiness around her. But there is no malice."

"And what did you first think of when …?"

"Moon," Drusilla replayed immediately, sure of her answer.

Mrs. Watson nodded. "And the others?"

"The other blonde …" Drusilla frowned in thought; what did she feel about the last blonde in the meadow. "She wears a chemise with straps and red leather pants. And when I look at her I see …um white fuzz? "

Mrs. Watson frowned. "White fuzz?"

Drusilla nodded, "Yes."

"All right, and the rest?"

"The woman with chestnut hair, I think she is carrying a sword, but she is dressed in plain colors. And the feeling I associate with her; chivalry knight champion. Then there is a black haired woman dressed in baggy black clothing, with black painted lips and eyelashes … and I think her nails are painted black as well, and she has a silver circle pierced through one nostril."

"Ahm that is one drastic look for a young lady," Mrs. Watson said. "But what did you feel about this young woman?"

"A conflicted feeling," Drusilla murmured, ducking her head. "She feels like my dad – ugh, manly. I suppose."

"All right, you have a young woman of fourteen that is in some sort of uniform linked to the moon. A lady in red that is connected to the stars; a woman that is probably some sort of knight; a fluffy blonde girl, and a young woman that is probably some sort of magician." Mrs. Watson paused for a bit. "But none of the evil variety; we'll get back to them at a later date; I have some books about symbolism and dreams; I can look at that at a later date too. Now tell me the rest of the dream."

"All right, as I said we are looking for someone, or many someones, and we came upon that meadow and it is a really beautiful piece of nature; I can hear many birds singing, and it is sunny, like we would be in the valley of the sun." She smiled, remembering the summer breeze that blew through the clearing, carrying the smell of honeysuckle and the sea.

"But then the birds stop singing and the wind just stops, like everything just stops breathing. And we are just standing there wondering what is going on, and then there is this terrible voice saying 'Meso, carne, carn, mięso, feòil, ego cibus, vlees, wollen fleisch'. I know that 'ego cibus' in Latin means 'want meat' and … and that creature that appears is just a thing of nightmares. In shape it looks like a Shire horse, only bulker in torso, and it has thicker legs; it has no coat; just skin the color of a bruise, sickly yellows and blues and greens. It has a horn like a unicorn from the pictures, but it's wrapped in some sort of slimy substance like algae, and it … its head is monstrous, full of jagged teeth." At the last bit she broke down in tears, like she still did upon waking after this dream.

Mrs Watson wrapped her arms around Drusilla, "There, there, dear child, it can't hurt you right now. Have your milk and cookies to calm down and I'll bring you some Mentha and Chamomile tea with honey for (an) easy sleep."

"That would be lovely Mrs. Watson, thank you."

To be continued.

 **Translation** : those words that 'croc-unicorn' (the thing doesn't have species definition, so if you have an idea PM or tell in the review) mean the same: "meant, want meat". Just for the record, I was going for creepy with that thing.

 **Language used in order** : Slovenian, Spanish, Catalan, Polish, Scots Gaelic, Latin, Dutch and German.

 **Adelina Patti** was an Italian-French 19th-century opera singer, earning huge fees at the height of her career in the music capitals of Europe and America. She first sang in public as a child in 1851, and gave her last performance before an audience in 1914.

Chapter 3: **The one with angelic face and milk/cookies**

Angelus was pacing around the foyer, of the house he and Darla commandeered from previous owners. They were really tasty a married couple, that Darla decided to sire. Agitated, after all his prey, the one that will be his masterpiece escaped his grasp.

"What is it dear boy?" came the voice of his sire, as she stepped in to the candlelight. "Did you receive bad news, about Holtz perhaps being on our trial again?"

"No," growled Angelus, vamping out in sheer irritation, the last thing he needed was that irritated Germanic former general. Trough on second thought, he'd be perfect to go his frustration on that pesky fly. "It is not that! She escaped me!"

"Who," Darla inquired, "Ahh a little seer saint." she recalled that Angelus shown interest in the three sisters, the one whom had a sight especially.

Angelus resumed his pacing, while Drala reclined in the sofa watching him. "Angelus, dear, do stop this pacing," he shot her a look, and then petulantly flung himself in to padded chair, he was certain that he had there in the church, preying her penance, but apparently lithe morsel escaped the moment she stepped out of the confessional.

How utterly vexing.

"Come," said Darla, standing up. "The night is yet young and you are looking a mite pale," Angelus continued to sulk, so Darla went and pulled him to his feet.

"Who knows, perhaps, little lambs family will be out again," she watched her deer boys eyes light up. She firmly suppressed a jealous thought 'Will my boy loose interest in me, or is this pure doxy just a passing fancy?'

*** **Hornby residence – at the same time** ***

Drusilla was clutching the windowsill, her knuckles' palling in her effort. Her mother was a bed; again, having a headache, father was out with a patient. And her uncle and aunt-by-marriage were chaperoning Danielle and Doreen.

So it was only Drusilla herself, her ailing mother and servants, and of course Mrs. Watson. And she needed to talk with her old nanny now housekeeper.

There was a knock at her room' door.

"Come in." Drusilla said, and Mrs. Watson stepped in, in a swish of black skirts, carry a tray with milk and cookies.

"Here you are dear," Mrs. Watson said, putting the tray down at the small table. "I'm afraid that you mother retired to her rooms, and she is unlikely to come out for days."

Drusilla blinked, when suddenly a looming dark weight in her hart lifted, and she was able to breathe more easily.

"There is nothing to fear dear." Mrs. Watson said. Drusilla nodded. "Soon you'll be out of the foul things reach."

Drusilla turned to her former nanny; yes she was always supportive of her but this. "You believe me?"

Mrs. Watson nodded, "My father. When I was young, he served in a family that dealt with things like that; I didn't want to have any part in it after …." She trailed of, sighing. "After they took my little sister, she was barely five and teen summers old, she died, next year, those things killed her and they just watched. That is what they do, they watch them _die_." She finished angrily rubbing her eyes.

"Exactly on the night of my fifteenth birthday, before the night my seeing things came..." Drusilla trailed off.

Mrs. Watson nodded. "At first I thought you were like Edith, but, you are not. No Watchers came for you, and considering that they are based in London, they'd find you, if you'd been like her."

"Then what this all means?"

"Child, just because you see evil, doesn't make you the devil child."

Drusilla frowned, then thinking on her recurring dream that she had since before her five and teen birthday "I had that dream again."

Mrs. Watson frowned and sat down. "The one you usually have?"

"Yes, it was the same."

"I know I said not to tell me then, but can you tell me about it now."

"Oh," Drusilla softly excelled, Mrs. Watson always said to her not to talk about it to anyone. But considering what she just found out of Mrs. Watson's sister Edith her adamant demand for Drusilla not to talk about her dreams was understandable.

Then she blushed; now while she was somewhat used to seeing the scandalous clothing the young women, herself included, in her dream wore, she was embarrassed in voicing that.

"Well, its starts peacefully on the forest clearing, me, older me, and four other young women, we are looking for someone. I have no knowledge of who we are looking for." She trailed off, and then took a deep breath, deciding to not hold back no matter her embarrassment.

"Their clothing, Mrs. Watson, I am the only one that wears the full dress, that covers me from he neck to the ankles, but I … the dress is like those togas that Romans or Greeks wore and … a-and I'm wearing my hair loose and I'm dancing around and laughing." She gasped in embarrassment, her cheeks flushed. At least she didn't sound evil, manic and mad in that dream. She was genially happy.

"Calm down child, its all right." Mrs. Watson said, hugging her across the shoulders. "I changed your nappies; strange dresses are no reason to be embarrassed in front of me."

Drusilla's blush intensified. "Mrs. Watson." she squeaked. Then she cleared her throat.

"There are three blondes; one is about my age – now, so thirteen to fifteen. She is wearing … a very short plated skirt, the like's only 4 years old girls wear …" Drusilla faltered for a moment. "The other women all wear trousers."

"Do they, really. My, that sounds fascinating; I always wondered how it is like walking around in britches like men do." Mrs. Watson remarked calmly, drawing astonished look from Drusilla. "So what do they have on top? Wainscots, shirts, cravats, tail coats?"

"Emm, one is, the one in to short skirt for her age, is wearing high black stockings, which come, almost, to her knees, doesn't wear any boots, she is wearing black and blue, waistcoat and cravat of the same coloring."

"Hmm, that almost sounds like some sort of the uniform, continue Miss Drusilla if you please."

"The other blonde, with green or hazel eyes, she has straight sandy or, or like that brass handle color, or old gold …" she trailed off again, blushing at the memory, in lot of ways this woman's clothing made from fitting black trousers, that looked like men's riding britches, and tight lacy …

"I …she is wearing an of shoulders dark red shirt made of lace, it is not see trough, but, but …"

"I imagine you can see curves, yes."

Drusilla nodded. Mrs. Watson thought a moment. "It is more reveling than say what gowns those ladies of the peerage wear?"

"Err, no. no, come to think it her red top, could be part of the evening gown, or a gown that opera signer wears; AdelinaPatti **.** "

Mrs. Watson snorted "So the lass in your dreams could tease lads a bit, but her wears cover more of her body than high end ladies clothing. But please do continue." Heartened and less embarrassed Drusilla did just that.

"None of the women war bonnets, myself included, and I think, I think that the blonde in red lace shirt has a long knife and some sort of keys on her belt. Golden and silver and keys made of jade."

"What feelings do you have when you are around this woman?"

"Stardust." Drusilla blurted. "Stars." She amended. "I feel connected to her trough the stars."

"And that fourteen or so lass?"

"She had straggly, waist-length, dishwater blonde hair, wispy thin eyebrows, and protuberant eyes that make her look surprised. I feel airy dottiness around her. But there is no malice."

"On what did you first think was when …?"

"Moon." Drusilla replayed immediately, sure of her answer.

Mrs. Watson nodded. "And the others?"

"The other blonde …" Drusilla frowned in thought, what did she feel about the last blonde in the meadow. "She wears chemise with straps, and red leather pants. And when I look at her I see …um white fuzz? "

Mrs. Watson frowned. "White fuzz?"

Drusilla nodded, "Yes."

"All right, and the rest?"

"The woman with chestnut hair, I think she is carrying a sword, but she is dressed in plain colors. And the feeling I associate with her; chivalry knight champion. Then there is; a black haired woman dressed in baggy black clothing, with black painted lips and eyelashes … and I think her nails are black painted as well and she has a silver circle pierced trough one nostril."

"Ahm that is one drastic look for a young lady." Mrs. Watson said. "But what you feel about this young woman?"

"Conflicted feel," Drusilla murmured, ducking her head. "She feels like my dad – ugh, manly. I suppose."

"All right, you have a young woman of fourteen that is in some sort of uniform linked to the moon, lady in red that is connected to the stars, a woman that is probably some sort of knight, fluffy blonde girl, and a young woman that is probably some sort of magician." Mrs. Watson paused for a bit. "But not of the evil verity, we'll get back to them at later date; I have some books about symbolism and dreams, I can look t that at a later date. Now tell me the rest of the dream."

"All right, as I said we are looking for someone, or many someone's, and we came upon that meadow and it is really beautiful nature, I san hear many birds sing, and it is sunny, like we would be in valley of the sun." she smiled, remembering the summer breeze that blow through the clearing, carrying the smell of honeysuckle and sea.

"But then the birds stop singing and the wind just stops, like everything just stops breathing. And we are just standing there wondering what is going on, and then there is this terrible voice saying 'Meso, carne, carn, mięso, feòil, ego cibus, vlees, wollen fleisch'. I know that 'ego cibus' in Latin means 'want meat' and … and that creature that appears is just thing of nightmare. In shape it looks like Shire horse, only bulker in torso and it has thicker legs, it has no coat; just skin the colour of a bruise, sickly yellows and blues and greens. It has a horn like unicorn on the pictures, but it's wrapped in some sort of slimy substance like algae, and it … its head is monstrous, full of jagged teeth." At the last she broke down in tears, like she still did upon waking after this dream.

Mrs Watson wrapped her arms around Drusilla, "There, there, drear child, it can't hurt you right now. Have you milk and cookies to calm down and I'll bring you some Mentha and Chamomile tea with honey for easy sleep."

"That would be lovely Mrs. Watson, thank you."

To be continued.

 **Translation** : those words that 'croc-unicorn' ( **the thing doesn't have species definition, so if you have an idea PM or tell in the review** ) mean the same: "meant, want meat". Just for the record, I was going for creepy with that thing.

Language used in order: Slovenian, Spanish, Catalan, Polish, Scots Gaelic, Latin, Dutch and German.

 **Adelina Patti** was an Italian-French 19th-century opera singer, earning huge fees at the height of her career in the music capitals of Europe and America. She first sang in public as a child in 1851, and gave her last performance before an audience in 1914.


End file.
